We got an email three days before the race informing us that we were not properly registered (I wrote earlier about how we registered in cat 4 because 5 was full) so we would not be able to race. USCF rules restrict the cat 5 field to just 50 racers. We contacted the race director, who said he was unable to help us and we could only race if some of the cat 5 racers who had pre-registered didn't show up. Of course, we couldn't know if there was going to be opportunity to race until 1/2 hour before the race would begin. We decided to fly standby.
Friday afternoon, we drove out to Jeff's grandma's house: 2 bike racers, 1 german shepherd, 1 2-year old, and 1 surprisingly patient wife. Jeff's grandma had prepared us a dinner, which was very kind, but unfortunately represented the antithesis of pre-race fare; chili, hot dogs and beer. We decided to go out for pasta.
Two hours later, we were still trying to go out for pasta and we were still lost looking for a hip italian joint on St Louis' "the Hill". It would take many cell phone calls and a few gas station stops before we found someplace to eat, but it was too late. The restaurant marked the beginning of a really steep downhill skid. Max allowed us only 20 minutes inside the restaurant--15 of those were spent waiting on a table--before the baby time-bomb exploded into tears and screams. With the appetizer on the table we were forced to leave. The grocery store would have to suffice.
Outside, the temperature was also headed downhill. In the time we were in the restaurant the temperature dropped at least 15 degrees. Winds speeds were however on the rise.
Max could not be tamed. We sat up until past midnight trying to calm him and coax him into sleep. When he was finally calm enough to stay on the bed, he was still a monster, trashing and forcing me out of bed. Ultimately, we got a little bit of interrupted sleep; Ginna and I were each clinging to the edge of the bed with Max sleeping perpendicular between us.
Come 6:30 it was no problem for me to wake up. I went in to Jeff, who was on the couch. I woke him and asked if he slept ok. "This couch is killing my back," was the first thing Jeff said. I knew that wasn't good. I felt bad for him. I felt guilty that having us around had kept him from being able to eat right and sleep well before the race. Still, he was patient and anxious to get to the race.
We arrived at the race soon after registration began. We described our situation, put our names on a wait-list and were told that our chance of riding was slim. Frustrated, we drove to a Denny's for a poor pre-race breakfast. We ate plain bagels with jam, while Max ate a cheeseburger.
At 10:30 we went back to the race to check out status. We were shocked to find that despite early indications that we would not get to race, many pre-registered racers in our category hadn't come. Suddenly, we had less than a half hour to get prepared for the race. Under pressure, we hurriedly put on our stuff and put the bikes together; there was not time for proper warmup.
Due to poor race organization we stood in line waiting to race for an hour. We were shivering in the bitter cold wind. Jeff and I looked around our group, sizing up the competition. Hopes were high, but we were cautious, realizing that we were some of the only racers not riding with a larger team.
We expected the racers to start slowly and pick up speed as the 44 mile race went on. The riders in our group had other plans. The leaders took off at criterium pace right from the whistle. Jeff and I, stuck starting in the rear of the group were put in a position to try to fight our way to the front. The riders were jerks for the most part, swearing at other, shoving and never letting anyone into the peleton's slipstream. I saw an open line early and took it, propelling myself up near the front group of riders. No sooner had I made it, then we hit a climb, which gave me another opportunity to climb to the lead. I lead the group for about a mile after the climb, but was passed on every corner.
The road was pitted and rough. The pace was furious. The wind relentless. I felt like I was riding on a roller-coaster without a seatbelt. I wanted to look back and see where Jeff was, but I couldn't for fear that I would wreck or fall behind. For the rest of the first lap I clung to the front group, almost never capable of looking back, never able to drink or eat and in constant threat of being dropped.
About mile 30 a group of riders tried to make a breakaway. I watched guys from my group bridge the gap one by one. Soon the group was 4 riders strong. I couldn't tell how many we were, but I suspected my leading to group to be no bigger than 10 or fifteen. I started to worry that the breakaway would escape the peleton and win, they were about 100 meters ahead. I feared my only chance was to go for it and try to finish with the breakaway group. A rider jumped ahead to gun for the breakaway and I followed with everything I had. About 50 meters from the group, the guy I was drafting lost power and started to decelerate. I knew I needed to pull, if we were going to make it. I pulled out and yelled at the rider next to me, "come on!" He couldn't and after a few minutes in the wind, neither could I. The lead peleton rushed past me, leaving me fighting just to stay near. The roads worsened and I was dodging pot holes and gravel pits, trying with all I had left to catch the lead peleton again. I was mad that I hadn't been able to catch the breakaway, but things were going to be much worse if I couldn't catch the group again. I started riding at a cadence of over 120, shifting into higher gears to get enough speed to catch up. Again, a climb saved me. We had to make a hard climb and as the group slowed, I was able to pull myself back into the middle of the riders. Once there, I realized that the breakaway had been captured while I was in the rear.
I suspected the last climb would be the point when the riders would go for the win and I was right. I didn't have the legs to do anything great. I positioned myself into 3rd place going into the climb and then just rode as fast as I could up the hill. Some riders past me, but I passed others too. Once I crested the climb, I raced to the brick roads near the finish. There was no sign of a peleton anymore. There was only individual riders spaced out along the roads. I gave it all I had left to get to the end. I was unclear of the outcome because there were other riders from other categories scattered along the roads near the finish, but Ginna and Jeff counted and had me close to top 10. It was without question the hardest ride of my life.
Speaking of Jeff, his back froze up and he had to call it quits after the first 22 mile lap. But, he lived to ride again, with a fantastic finish in the Sunday criteriums in St. Louis. If we had been together on either ride, I'm sure we would have done better than we did alone. I was bummed after the Roubaix, because Jeff and I had prepared so well as a team that when one of use didn't make it, it still felt like a loss, despite my great finish. After hearing about his criterium success, I was able to more fully enjoy my success. It was a good weekend of racing after all...but not without plenty of adversity.
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